


fill my little world

by jenna221b



Series: Good Omens Prompts [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection, One Word Prompts, POV Alternating, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna221b/pseuds/jenna221b
Summary: Crowley pulls out the paper with a flourish. His glasses have slipped down again, giving Aziraphale a perfect view of his eyes widening in appreciation as he reads: gold calligraphy, an unaddressed invitation to the bookshop’s opening.“Gosh, hark at you,” Crowley says. “You’ve been practising.”Moments where, even if they did not know it yet, they had chosen Earth (had chosen each other).*Little series of ficlets for prompts in celebration of the Earth’s 6024th birthday.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840228
Comments: 35
Kudos: 132
Collections: Good Omens Celebration Birthday Edition





	1. Invitation (1800)

“Ooh,” Crowley positively crows. He brandishes the envelope as if he’s found some well-hidden treasure.

“Yes, yes, open it if you must,” Aziraphale says, as if he hadn’t purposely set it out for Crowley to find.

Crowley pulls out the paper with a flourish. His glasses have slipped down again, giving Aziraphale a perfect view of his eyes widening in appreciation as he reads: gold calligraphy, an unaddressed invitation to the bookshop’s opening.

“Gosh, hark at you,” Crowley says. “You’ve been practising.”

Aziraphale cannot resist a pleased little hum. “Well, I had to. Your handwriting was showing mine up.”

Aziraphale hopes Crowley is not too far gone on wine in order to realise that what he means by this is _yes, I kept all your letters._

But, instead of a knowing smile, Crowley frowns. “Hang on, you only made one.”

“One what?”

Crowley brandishes the paper, somehow in a gentle fashion. “Invitation.”

“Ye-es.” Aziraphale downs the rest of his wine because, _honestly_. “Crowley, it’s for _you_.”

“Oh!” Crowley clears his throat, and proceeds to make a show of putting the paper back inside the envelope, pristinely folded. There’s a faint tinge on his cheeks that may not be from drink alone. “Right, well then.” He tilts his glass towards Aziraphale, mimicking yet another toast. “To your shop.”

Aziraphale smiles. “To the shop.”

He does dearly wish that Crowley gets the point, that the invitation is not just about the shop alone, that it extends into a far more eternal thing. _Wherever I am, you are welcome there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lol I accidentally deleted the original endnote so I hope I remembered my hilarious wording from before ;) )
> 
> I said I was going to be self-indulgent and do 2 prompt lists this October [john mulaney voice] and then I DID.


	2. Cake (2008)

Aziraphale pauses, wine glass halfway to his lips. “Goodness,” he says.

Crowley follows his gaze, and soon identifies the point of interest: a troupe of waiters, carrying a monstrosity of tiered cake, all singing ‘Happy Birthday’ at a frankly alarming volume. The unlucky recipient cringes, sinking down in his seat, looking like the ground swallowing him up would be a blessing.

“Oh, the poor sod,” Crowley says sincerely.

“I’ve always wondered, but… was that one of yours?”

“Yup.” Crowley shrugs. “Never got a commendation.” He winces as the singing goes from slightly out of tune to terribly out of tune. “Don’t think Hell recognises just how painful your run-of-the-mill embarrassment can be.”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale says again. He’s watching the spectacle with genuine awe. “Oh, well done, you. That is truly dreadful.”

(Crowley preens silently).

Aziraphale clicks his fingers. Another passing waiter promptly drops their tray of drinks with a great clatter. The singing is abruptly cut short as everyone bustles off to help. The birthday boy wears a look of stunned relief, as if he has veritable proof that there _is_ a God.

Aziraphale smirks, scarcely hiding it behind a sip of wine. “There. Cancels out your, ah… evil.”

 _Oh, hello,_ Crowley thinks. Suddenly, the idea of a little Antichrist on earth doesn’t seem so hopeless. _There’s a thought._


	3. Surprise (4004 B.C.)

“Did you get instructions?” Aziraphale asks. “You know, for…” He gestures towards the now very distant humans, mere specks on the horizon. “How to talk to them?”

The demon Crawly shakes his head. “Nah, no guidebooks, nothing. All a bit vague, really.”

“Oh.” A guidebook does sound jolly helpful. “Well, I was given a demonstration of what our—ah—well, _protocol_ would be, and it was all a bit… much.”

Crawly smirks. “Is giving away a flaming sword not standard procedure?”

“You know, if you’re going to keep bringing that up, I’m not going to talk to you at all.”

“No, no, don’t mind me. Carry on, angel.”

“Anyway. It was more the _tone_ of everything. A tad…” Aziraphale’s nose wrinkles. He hovers his hand in the air, just above his hairline. “As if they were above it all.”

Crawly blinks. “Well. You literally are.”

“I _realise_ —oh, never mind.”

“No, keep going! Did you invent _new_ protocol? Ambitious, first week on the job.”

“Not exactly.” Aziraphale sighs, but it’s more a curious sound than a frustrated one. “I believe I just talked to them as if I… well, as if I was a person, just like them.”

And, Aziraphale wishes there was a guidebook, if only it would tell him why Crawly is smiling so much.


	4. Gifts (2008)

“Oh, go on,” Crowley wheedles. “Just buy them.”

Aziraphale stares at the bookends, a pair of great golden, celestial wings. Privately, he’s all for a bit of Apocalyptic-initiated self-indulgence, but really. There must be a line drawn somewhere.

“I simply can’t,” he sniffs. “It’s a frivolous purchase.”

“Write it off as a business expense.”

“Well, now, it wouldn’t be, it would be a pleasure-related—”

“Aha!” Crowley points an accusing finger. “So, you’re admitting that you’d enjoy it?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re—”

“No, don’t play coy now. I’ve seen you with all your bloody angel mugs. Honestly, you’re… you’re like the old man in films dropping hints that they’re Father Christmas every five minutes.”

Aziraphale resolutely tries not to blush, and aims for his best pout. “I do nothing of the sort.”

One. Two. Th—

“Fine!” Crowley throws his hands up. “I’ll buy it. Happy-bloody-birthday.”

(They don’t have birthdays, but that’s never stopped Crowley from using it as an excuse).

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale smiles, like this hadn’t been his plan from the very beginning. “How lovely of you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley says, like he isn’t wrapped right round Aziraphale’s little finger.


	5. Party (2019)

There’s confetti littering the floor of the bandstand. Crowley can see the glint of it: golden glitter and tiny facsimiles of champagne flutes.

He almost hopes they can walk past it, but Aziraphale pauses, his eye caught on the sight. “Oh,” he murmurs. Crowley can hear the guilt and regret in it, and no, he thinks. They’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

He takes Aziraphale’s hand. “Come on,” he says.

There’s still a little thrum of trepidation, like an echo of what he had felt, staring up at the bookshop only this afternoon. But, the wave of remembered sorrow abates. There’s space for something more, for new and better things.

Crowley nods down at the confetti. “What d’you reckon? Birthday? Anniversary?”

“Oh, I…” Aziraphale smiles. “Nothing, maybe?”

Crowley raises his eyebrow. “Lot of fuss for nothing.”

“No, I mean…” Aziraphale squeezes his hand. “I think they can feel it, that we—that it was saved. They don’t know, not really, but they _know_.”

Crowley thinks about it, and looks at the sky, deepening into the purple hues of sunset. He thinks he understands. The whole night feels like a summer that will never end.

And, there’s something… “Can you hear music?” Crowley asks. It’s a muted _Moonlight Serenade_.

“Ah.” Aziraphale blushes. “Well, it _is_ a bandstand, Crowley. I’m just setting the world to rights.”

Crowley laughs. “Not quite.” He pulls Aziraphale into a gentle hold, and they sway together, amongst the glitter. He recalls the first wonders of his world—an angel, forsaking his sword, sheltering a demon. “I think you’ve done that a thousand times over.”

**Author's Note:**

> I said: I'm going to have an October that's so self-indulgent and do 2 prompt lists [john mulaney voice] and then I DID


End file.
